


Adjusting

by canniballistics



Category: Wicked Gentlemen - Hale
Genre: Canon - Book, Desk Sex, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, M/M, POV First Person, Post-Canon, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 21:43:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canniballistics/pseuds/canniballistics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Mr. Belimai Sykes rambles a lot, William Harper gets misty, and acceptance is had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adjusting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaizoku](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaizoku/gifts).



The air was different here.

It would take a while to get used to, that much was apparent. It was different from the capitol's put-upon airs of tolerance and cleanliness, and certainly a change from the putrescence of Hell's Below. Here, the stench of human excrement was replaced with that of animal, clogged and filthy air suddenly clean and pure. It was the polar opposite of all I'd known, just as alien to me as I was to it. I wondered if perhaps it might reject me, something too saturated in the odors of city and human suffering to belong in such a clean place. It was far from insulting to think; rather, I almost expected it. Those days I'd spent alone here while Harper had traipsed about the capitol hadn't prepared me in the least for having to completely adjust to clean air - briefly, I wondered if my lungs were as blackened and greasy as the ever-present smog there.

It was a change, certainly. And one that was rather shocking to get used to, rather like drinking a cup of clear, cold water when all one has had the entirety of their life is the burn of blue gin. And after having ended my tumultuous affair with ophorium, I was of a proper state to actually appreciate the - for the better - change.

The thrill of having left the city hadn't escaped me, either. Of course there were rules and regulations and processes so that a Prodigal could legally leave, though I had no idea what they were, but they would likely have taken one look into my file and denied me the privilege of escape. Neither the charge nor the reason would matter at all; the judges would only need to see that I'd been put under a prayer engine, and their minds would be set. The whole of Crowncross was set against my kind, despite how my ancestors had desired and asked for redemption. That I was a Prodigal in the first place would already cast me in a negative light.

But to have escaped - snuck out under their very noses without a care for their rules - was a heady feeling. Often, during the first few days, I had expected Inquisitors to knock down the doors and to feel a bullet lodge itself in my skull. And as time had passed, and they hadn't shown up, I suppose I had relaxed a bit more, but if Harper had noticed at all, he hadn't said anything. I supposed I appreciated it, though it was more likely that he'd been feeling the same anxiety. It was one thing to harbor and help a Prodigal defy the law. It was another thing entirely when the man in question was an Inquisitor.

..well, ex-Inquisitor. It still surprised me, though not as much as it had that first moment he'd told me. No doubt they'd had a fit when he told them, and something in me was rather proud of him for it. Perhaps it was just that natural loathing for the priests and their regulations, taking any sort of pleasure I could from anything that might upset them. Perhaps it was something simpler, something I wasn't quite ready to contemplate. It was much too soon for those sorts of thoughts, only another way to ruin my newly-obtained freedom, and I'm sure that Harper would feel much the same, if such things had even passed through his mind. He seemed to fit into this setting, though; much more so than I did, at any rate. However, that wasn't to say I disliked it. Harper's housekeeper and her son were pleasant enough, didn't seem to mind my being a Prodigal at all. I appreciated that. It was nice to be able to step into a room or building and not have fat gobs of spit land at my feet. And if they were at all bothered by the relationship between Harper and I, they hid it well.

Quiet, clean, and peaceful, with no one to hang us for traitors, or some other such nonsense for consorting together. All in all, it seemed the perfect place for us.

There was a quiet sound as I closed my book, pages mostly filled with half-finished drawings and charcoal stick tucked amongst them. The mood for drawing had passed, and I still had yet to explore the rest of the estate. Since I was more than capable of taking care of myself this time around, Harper and Mrs. Kately had seen fit to upgrade me from the nursery to some real rooms, conveniently across the hall from Harper's master bedroom. I appreciated the sentiment, how they had seen fit to give me my own privacy. I almost entertained the thought of what other Prodigals would kill for the freedom I had, decided that they weren't worth the thought. That was a life over and done with, had been since I'd been put under the engines. Ah, to be young again.

I crept down the hall, nodded to the boy as I passed - what was his name, again? Giles, I think it was; Mrs. Kately's son, with his ridiculous facial fuzz. I hadn't the heart to say anything about it, as I would have done. These people had been kind to me, it was only fair that I return the favor, else I find myself on the next train back to Crowncross. And as much as I did so _love_ the city, I had no plans to return to it, not so long as Harper would have me on here. If that meant I had to keep a civil tongue where normally I would taunt, then it was a small price to pay.

I followed the familiar scent of soap and leather further into the house, to a set of large oak doors. For a moment, I paused, wondering if I should knock. Perhaps it would be best to take the polite route, wait for permission to enter somewhere I obviously hadn't been invited to. But I was a contrary being by nature, and it wouldn't be unheard of for me to just walk right in. I settled for a brief knock before coming in, the lesser of two evils, and strode inside. Harper was sitting at a large wooden desk, pen in his hand and scratching away at papers. _Writing away to the Inquisition house that he's got a Prodigal captive here?_ But that was unfair of me; Harper had made no such insinuations, and after all we'd been through, I knew him to be a better man than that. He barely even looked up at me as I planted myself in a chair across from him, finishing his thoughts before shuffling the papers and tucking them away. Immediately, I was suspicious, though he gave off no airs of shame. Something more personal, then?

I made note to root through his desk later, when he was occupied with something else.

Finally, Harper looked up at me, nodded just a little. "Belimai," he began, and I couldn't help the small thrill at hearing my given name, "how are you finding the estate?" His hands were bare, I noticed, as he steepled them below his mouth. Still such delicate, smooth skin, until you turned it over and saw the scar racing across his palm. I couldn't help but think of it as me - something ugly thrown in among the beauty.

I shrugged, leaned back a little. Casual, nonchalant. Nothing to broadcast that I had, in fact, been somewhat lonely. Being constantly in his company had ruined me, I noticed, no longer able to adjust as easily as I once had to my solitude. I wondered if I should resent him for it, for that inevitable moment when we might get sick of each other. Where other men had failed to make me do so, I'd given up ophorium while keeping his company, and some part of me demanded that he be grateful for it, show some sort of sign that he was pleased with me and appreciated. The rest of me was rather sick of that one; I was no longer a child, no longer so desperate for others' approval. "It's nice enough. You have yet to give me a complete tour of it, though."

He regarded me for a moment, no doubt wondering why I hadn't just gone on by myself, and I gave him my most innocent smile; it must have been pretty garish, I imagine, as there was a trace of a smile on his lips before he looked away. "Very well," he said, standing and pushing in the chair before moving around the desk and leaning against it. He looked almost plain, a pair of slacks, loafers, and dress shirt the entirety of his ensemble. It was a stark difference from his Inquisitor's uniform, somewhat soft and more human where the uniform had been all lines and angles. It would take some getting used to as well, but was much for the better, I felt. His face was straight, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice, and he crossed his arms. "Where would you like to go first?"

Where to first, hm? Was it commonly the guest's part to direct the tour? I shrugged again, rising to stand by him. "Wherever would be a suitable place to start. I've already seen the nursery, no need to go there. Ever. Again." I thought I saw the corners of his mouth twitch at that, and I let myself smile at him. It seemed that being away from the Inquisition houses and the stresses of the city were doing wonders on him, changing him into a man I didn't know: Harper had smiled twice in the past five minutes. I'd have thought him to be just a fanciful delusion, if I hadn't known better. I motioned to the room around us, at the bookcases lining the walls and great big paintings. "Where are we?"

There was silence for a moment, and then Harper began to speak. "This is my father's-- step-father's study. I used to spend a lot of time in here with him. This was also where I told him I'd be an Inquisitor. I wonder what he'd think now."

I looked at him, some far-off look in his eyes, some measure of pain on his face, and regretted asking the question. There was a crease between his eyebrows, the set of his mouth downturned. I was fantastic at ruining the mood, it seemed. But I couldn't help wondering at the story behind that, what had happened between he and his step-father, where his biological father had gone. It was impulsive of me, and I didn't know if it might suffice as a sort of apology, but I leaned over to kiss at that crease, eyes closed so as not to see the look of surprise that crossed his face. It was just a brief thing, and I leaned back against the desk after it was done, my eyes trained on a painting across the room even though I could feel Harper staring at me. Yes, yes, Belimai's gone mad, please do get over it. But then his hand was cupping my chin, and he kissed me back, breath warm against my lips and just the faintest brush of a tongue.

Perhaps it was the right thing to do, after all.

I kissed him back, of course, and it was a heady rush that swept through me as he pulled me close, pressed me back against the desk so that I had to nearly sit on it to avoid outright falling. I wondered, though, would he enjoy that? I brought his scarred hand up, ran my fingers over the puckered flesh before leaning to kiss it. Was it a bit of vanity on my part, in regards to my earlier thoughts? Perhaps. But Harper seemed to like it, gentle as he kissed me again, pushed me to lying back against the desk.

How kinky, ex-Captain.

But I am and always will be a man of my desires, and I simply pulled him closer. From there, it was the routine dance, hands sliding under clothing and eventually discarding them altogether. I curled my hand around him, appreciated the shiver that tore up his spine as he kissed at my scars, his hand working at me in return. The act was familiar, breaths turned harsh and fevered touches, and briefly, I wondered if we should really be doing this in Harper's father's study, on his very desk, but then thought was washed away, and we were just two men caught in an act of pleasure.

\- - - - -

Afterward, as we sat against the foot of the desk, sloppily dressed and more than a little disheveled, I looked over at him, debating with myself. Harper seemed to truly enjoy my company, if not the moments like this that we spent together; it would be rude of me, maybe even ruin whatever we had, if I were to trod carelessly. So, for once, I took the truly polite route as my curiosity got the better of me, clearing my throat before saying his name. "Harper."

"Hm?" It was just a quiet hum, his eyes closed and head back against the polished wood, and I wondered if perhaps he was falling asleep.

"What were you writing?"

It was lazy, the way he looked over at me for just a moment before his head rolled back into its previous position, eyes once again closed. He waved a hand carelessly, voice strong and clear despite his appearance. "I need to send away to the closest construction company. It's about time those torch-holders were refitted for gas lamps."

Torch-holders? I stared at him for a moment, the barest shade of a memory coming to mind. Those ugly things at the front gates and outside of the house? If I smiled, I wasn't about to admit to it, and I just nodded slowly before leaning back against him. An arm curled around my shoulders, and there we remained.

Perhaps I could get used to this new life, then.


End file.
